Crédits photographiques Jana Hobeika
I walk my days on a wire
Oh mamma, don't fuss over me
Calls of guilty thrown at me
Thrown at me so powerfully
Sweet and right and merciful
I'm all but washed in the tides of her breathing
The way she shows me I'm hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist would be fine
The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine